The Cook's Pride
by Tonko
Summary: Set Post-Clockwork Island. Zoro-Sanji... "nakama"-ship (friendship might be a little strong). The day after the fight on Clockwork Island, Zoro finds out Sanji hasn't really recovered. Rated for language, and sort-of graphic injuries.


A/N: Set after the events of the Clockwork Island Adventure.

* * *

It wasn't hard to understand why no one noticed. After the high of the fight, followed by the mind-blowing parachute excursion from the toppling Clockwork Island, they were all just glad to be on their way again.

So when Sanji immediately vanished into the galley to get back to his stove, everything was back to normal. He even allowed generous access to the wine rack, and everyone took shameless advantage.

By late that night, the bruises on Nami's face were a slightly more impressive color, but already fading around the edges. Usopp's coughing and wheezing had lessened considerably, though he was still a little wobbly from all the paralytic gas, but that could also have been all the wine he'd drunk. Zoro had stitched up his wound, and, when he arose well before dawn, was already ignoring his bandaged midsection to practice sword katas.

He set down all three katanas at last, shaking sweat from his brow, and watched the glow of the pre-dawn horizon for a moment, savoring the quietness of the ship. Usopp was in the crow's nest on watch. Nami hadn't yet awoken, nor had Luffy. It was still an hour or so from Luffy's calls for breakfast. And Sanji… his hammock had been empty when Zoro had woken up, hadn't it? Well, Zoro was thirsty, might as well get some water and take the opportunity to see what was being done for breakfast, if the cook was up so early.

Zoro pushed open the door of the galley. Wonderful smells reached him as he spotted Sanji at the counter.

"Shitty cook." He grunted by way of greeting, grabbing a tankard and filling it with water at the sink. Out of habit he moved as slowly as possible, looking around, getting in Sanji's way as he waited for the tankard to fill. There was no sound of annoyance from Sanji, just the continued noise of chopping, and a slight movement away from Zoro's interfering elbow.

Mildly miffed at the lack of reaction, Zoro retrieved his drink, and took a seat at the bench. The table was full already, the surface almost hidden below covered plates and bowls, some emitting steam carrying mouthwatering scents, and Zoro quietly lifted the lid on one to investigate. Sanji must have been at this for ages.

He yanked his hand back just in time as a knife-wielding fist came down with a bang on the table in front of the dish. It was handle-down, to Zoro's surprise, rather than the usual warning stab with the blade. "Pulling your punches, shitty cook?" He asked with a smirk, looking over the lip of his tankard as he took another swallow of water

His amusement evaporated as Zoro stared into Sanji's ghost-pale face. As Zoro watched in shock, Sanji swayed slightly. His eyes were glazed—the reaction to the attempted pilfering of his cooking must have been reflex, Zoro realized, and set aside his tankard in time to reach out and catch the cook when he fainted.

As the dead weight landed in his arms, Zoro took another glance at the quantity of food laid out. "Fucking idiot cook!" he growled as he pulled the knife from Sanji's grip, and stepped on the cigarette that had fallen from Sanji's lips, "You've been up the whole damn night, haven't you?" He hauled Sanji to the other side of the room, leaning him in the corner formed by a rice crate and the wall. The cook's feet dragged along the floor and Zoro's eyes narrowed as he remembered the damage they'd taken the day before. If Sanji really hadn't stopped cooking since yesterday...

His growing suspicions were confirmed when he grabbed Sanji's left ankle and pulled off the shoe. The smell of dried blood and infection was strong, and Sanji's bare foot was a horror, lacerated and darkly bruised, the ragged cuts and torn calluses angry red and swollen, with ground-in grit from yesterday's battle still visible. Blood seeped from where scabs had come away with the shoe, and from where cuts had rubbed raw during Sanji's overnight activity. The right foot was even worse, with deep punctures from kicking that spiky devil fruit freak on top of the other damage. The dirt-encrusted holes were oozing, still only half-scabbed. Zoro was aghast.

"You… fucking IDIOT! You fought with your fucking BARE feet, you fell out of a fucking hot-air balloon, and you didn't even clean up or… SLEEP! You stupid asshole!" Zoro snarled as he gingerly took a closer look at the wounds. How had the fool even been standing all this time, let alone cooking? Sanji twitched.

"Fuck off." Sanji's weak voice was dull, and when Zoro turned from his examination of the cook's battered feet, Sanji's gaze, half-lidded but aware, was angry and ashamed. The hostile blue eyes were still glazed, and Zoro reached over to lay the palm of his hand on Sanji's forehead. The skin there was as hot as the infected skin on his feet. "Infection." Zoro glared. "You idiot."

Sanji turned his face away. Now that he was no longer caught up with his cooking, it seemed whatever insane energy had kept him going had vanished. Zoro left him propped against the wall to go over and turn off the stove.

"Wait…" Sanji said, with effort, "Just needs… to simmer. Add the.. potatoes... and the… spices in the bowl… and leave the heat… on low."

"What the hell is wrong with you?" Zoro demanded, as he dumped the diced potatoes and mixed spices into the boiling pot of stew. He gave it a cursory stir, then slammed the cover on and turned the heat dial to low. "Did you even take your shoes off once?" He pulled one of Sanji's large, clean, low-sided pots into the sink and turned on the hot water. "We don't need this much fucking _food_! We need a cook that'll still fucking be_ alive_ next week!" He yanked the door to the first aid cabinet open, pulling out a blanket and the first aid kit, then closed the door with a bang.

"You'll wake up… Luffy… and Nami-san." Sanji protested the noise as Zoro came back to put down the supplies. "And stop… lecturing me, shitty swordsman." Zoro wrapped the blanket around Sanji's shoulders, then returned to the sink.

He waited for the pot to fill, glaring dangerously at Sanji. "Maybe I should go wake him, and show him his cook is trying to kill himself." Infection of open wounds... Zoro had seen it before Wait too long and it became sepsis, and that was a death sentence.

Sanji rolled his head over to face the wall at that, and Zoro made out muffled negative. Heaving the nearly full pot out of the sink, he carried to where Sanji lay. "Get up, idiot cook." Zoro lifted Sanji and sat him on top of the crate, pulling the blanket closed around him. The cook's body listed sideways until he was leaning on the wall again. Zoro knelt and pushed the pot closer, dipped one hand into the water to test the temperature, then hooked an arm under Sanji's knees and lowered his feet into the water.

Sanji grunted in pain as the abused extremities were submerged. Zoro allowed himself a satisfied snort as he rolled up Sanji's pant legs. "And I _will_ lecture you, asshole. I may be doing katas, but at least I took care of _my_ injury." Zoro knelt to set out the first aid supplies. He rubbed medicinal soap into a froth on a wetted cloth, staring up at Sanji. "You fucking _know_ better than this. They're your weapons. I can get other swords, but you only have two feet." Carefully lifting Sanji's less-injured left foot to the surface of the water, he began to wipe off the blood and dirt. Minute twitches were all that gave away Sanji's pain from the friction of the cloth, and Zoro kept his touch as light as he could, thankful that nothing appeared broken.

"…first… cruci…" came a muttered snarl.

"What?" Zoro snapped. Sanji shuddered.

"At least… _you_… weren't the first… to be crucified, you… asshole." He repeated, and Zoro understood the mountains of cooked food at last. Sanji was a cook first, and that's where he tried to prove his strength. To whom, Zoro couldn't imagine. It could only be to Sanji himself. No one else on the ship needed any proof.

"Doesn't matter." Zoro said derisively, laying Sanji's calf across his bent knee. He dribbled disinfectant over the washed foot. "_You_ weren't the last." Zoro grit his teeth as he recalled the horror with which he'd watched Sanji plummet towards the minefield from so high up, and the furious shame he'd felt not too much later, passing out from a rain of poisoned _feathers_, of all the stupid attacks. Waking, shackled to a metal cross next to Sanji and Usopp, had been a deep embarrassment, mingled with relief thatthe other two were at least still alive. "You wanna thank Luffy for saving our asses by killing yourself in here instead?"

Sanji blinked slowly at Zoro as something turned over in his mind, then shook his head. He said nothing after that, and closed his eyes, pulling the blanket tighter around him. Zoro dried his foot, slathered it with antiseptic cream, and expertly bandaged it. Sanji remained silent as Zoro cleaned the other foot, but he tensed visibly and held his breath as Zoro reopened the puncture wounds to properly clean them.

By the time Zoro had finished, the water in the pot had cooled to room temperature. Zoro smoothed the tape anchoring down the last bandage a final time, andSanji weakly pulled his foot from Zoro's grasp. With an effort, he leaned away from the wall. "Let… go of me… shitty swordsman… I'm going to bed." But he stopped short of standing.

Zoro let go, but stayed where he sat, and stared evenly at Sanji, flicked a glance at the gauze-wrapped feet, and then raised his eyebrows slightly.

Sanji glowered. Zoro waited. Now that Sanji appeared to have come to his senses, it seemed like things were back to normal. Finally, Sanji ground from between clenched teeth, "Can you... help me to the cabin…" He swayed slightly where he sat. "…Please."

Zoro shrugged. No big deal. "Sure."

And he did.


End file.
